The Garden of Falling Light

In the old capital of Heian, where the roofs shimmered like the wings of cranes and the air smelled of plum blossoms, there lived a court poet named Hiroshi. He served in the palace of the Empress, writing verses for festivals and songs for moonlit banquets. Though he was admired for his grace and wit, his heart remained untouched, like a sheet of paper waiting for the first brush of ink.

One evening, during the Festival of Lanterns, he wandered into the imperial gardens. The paths were lined with glowing lights that floated upon the ponds like stars fallen to earth. Amid the quiet music of flutes, he saw a woman standing beneath a cherry tree. Her kimono shimmered with the colors of dusk, and her gaze was distant, as though she looked beyond the world itself.

She turned and bowed. “My lord, you should not walk alone among shadows,” she said.

He smiled. “Then walk with me, and the shadows will become light.”

She hesitated, then nodded. Her name was Akemi, a lady-in-waiting to the Empress, known for her embroidery and her silence. They spoke of the beauty of transience, of how blossoms fall because they are perfect, not because they are weak. He composed a poem for her on a strip of silk:

Even the moon weeps
When light falls upon your eyes
Spring forgets to fade.

From that night onward, Hiroshi found himself drawn to the garden each evening. Akemi met him there, and together they watched the lanterns drift across the pond. Their love grew quietly, hidden among petals and whispers. Yet they both knew such affection could not survive within the palace walls. A poet and a servant were not meant to share the same dream.

One day, the Empress announced that Akemi would be sent to a distant shrine to serve as a priestess. The news fell like winter upon Hiroshi’s heart. He went to the garden, but she did not come. The cherry trees had shed their last blossoms, and the lanterns floated without light.

Weeks later, he received a parcel wrapped in white silk. Inside lay a fan embroidered with falling petals and a single note: “When the garden blooms again, I will return.”

He kept the fan close, waiting through seasons of rain and frost. He wrote no more poems for the court. His words belonged to her now. The Empress, moved by his silence, released him from service. He left the palace and lived by the river, tending a small garden that reminded him of the one they had shared.

Years passed. Each spring, he planted cherry trees and hung lanterns upon their branches, but the light always seemed dimmer than before. Then, one twilight, as he lit the final lantern, he saw a figure by the water’s edge. She wore a plain robe, her hair streaked with silver, yet her eyes were the same. Akemi had returned.

“I prayed that the gods would let me see this garden once more,” she said. “And they did.”

He took her hand, trembling. “I waited.”

“I know,” she whispered. “The lanterns never went out.”

They sat beneath the cherry trees, watching petals fall into the pond. The world grew quiet, and time seemed to pause between one heartbeat and the next. The light from the lanterns reflected in her eyes like dawn returning after a long night.

When morning came, the gardeners found two figures seated side by side, peaceful as a dream. Around them, the cherry trees had bloomed brighter than ever before. From that day on, the place became known as the Garden of Falling Light, where lovers left lanterns upon the water to honor promises kept beyond time.

And it is said that, on nights when the moon is gentle, one can still see two shadows beneath the blossoms, a poet and his muse, forever watching the lanterns drift across the silent pond.

The End